


A Proper Introduction

by MidwesternMaenad



Series: Two Halves Of A Whole Idiot [2]
Category: Beetlejuice (TV 1989), Beetlejuice Animated, Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: But I Like These, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Gen, Maybe Not Everyone Will Like These, These Are Fun To Write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:34:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23756218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidwesternMaenad/pseuds/MidwesternMaenad
Summary: Beetlejuice finally gets a look at his new home - and his new roommate, too.Alternatively, "Beetlejuice Gets His Hopes Up And It Actually Pays Off, No Wonder It Snowed In April."
Relationships: Beetlejuice (Beetlejuice) & Original Character(s), Beetlejuice/Originial Female Character(s)
Series: Two Halves Of A Whole Idiot [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1704217
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	A Proper Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes: I won't warn about what balance of roleplay-to-dice there is in any of these, so you'll have to be the keen observer to pinpoint where someone succeeded or failed. But special shout-out to the Nat 1 Nature Check someone rolled, though. You'll know it when you see it.
> 
> Tunes listened to while writing and editing this include: Luigi's Mansion "Mansion (Exterior) Extended"
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Comments aren't necessary, but they'd be nice!
> 
> P.S. This also got the DM's stamp of approval! Hooray! Yes I'll be tacking on whether these are approved or not, mostly because it's his development, too, and he deserves some credit and validation.

Oh, it was a wonderful thing, that walk. He was _captivated_ by the sights and sounds of the neighbors he'd never known about. From the hard working laborers finally heading home in their heavy cloaks, to the children being driven home by horse-drawn carriage, or hurrying home on foot, bundled up in the coats of their parents. The two escaped border collies they saw went absolutely _apeshit_ in the snow, too. How they _jumped_ and _danced_ around out there, shoving their snouts into the snow just because they could... Man, he could relate to that on a _personal_ level.

But he wanted to see his _new_ _house_ more than anything. From the way Sir Roland was always talking, it _sounded_ like he lived in the _village_. Somewhere in the _northern_ part of town, if he remembered correctly. And at first, that was the way they were going! They went from the road of antiquities and woodworking stores, up past the park - which Beetlejuice _also_ thought was nice, personally - and the closer they got to the implied location, the better it looked. Though they weren't much _bigger_ , the paints on the walls of these stores were brighter than what Beetlejuice was used to back there. The fences were stronger, too, and the street lamps looked well taken care of, as opposed to the older ones down the way.

He watched as the brightly lit windows of the high-end houses came closer and closer. He could see better off folks pouring out drinks for their guests, or on the much heavier end of the wallet, ordering around servants, which carried around large platters of what he could only imagine was fresh, hot courses -

And yet, Sir Roland just kept on walking. He could only watch as the houses came closer, their music growing louder, before he passed them right on by.

_Huh?_ He probably lived right around here, didn't he? He wondered what the man was doing before cutting himself short. _No, try to think, Beetlejuice,_ he thought to himself, _I know that's a **real** **hard** concept, but he's probably going to take **another** road in. He's just taking the **scenic** route! Yeah, **that** 's it!_

So he leaned onto the edge of the mirror's face and waited. The village wasn't that big, but there were at least two roads leading into the rich part of town, from what he saw. That second road sat right past the healing clinic, which wasn't much farther ahead. He let his focus fall away from the people - from the pretty snow - to watch where his new roommate was going. Which meant he was even more confused when he came up to that second road, where he saw the healing clinic sitting on the street corner - and still kept walking.

He turned his head to watch that second road, as it slowly moved out of his line of sight. His eyebrows knit themselves together. From what he'd heard of the place, there were likely no big, fancy houses past this point. If that was correct, then, that meant...

That _wasn't_ where Sir Roland was going.

As he looked back ahead, that's when he saw it. Along the side of the road, parked just outside of another pretty, colorful house, was a Chaise. It was a fairly old carriage, where all the metal bits along the wheels and body had rusted, and some of the paint had worn down. But it still stood. And so, too, did the older looking donkey at the front of the cart. His fur was a dark chocolate brown, with white eye patches and socks, that which blended well into the slowly rising snow. Aside from the snow on his attached gear, he looked to be content to just stand there, doing nothing.

Up until Sir Roland jogged on up to him, anyway. For upon seeing this Chaise, he picked up his pace, which led to Beetlejuice bouncing some in his mirror as the nobleman hurried over. As he spoke, that Tethyrian accent from before came back in a hushed whisper. _"I'm so sorry I'm late, buddy!"_ He quietly told him. _"I got caught up shoppin'! Hopefully you're not too cold..."_

The ass was not inclined to give him a response. But he still took the silence as one anyway. _"I'll get yer nice quilt for ya once I'm done puttin' this up, alright?"_

This just confused Beetlejuice even further. If the man had a carriage, he expected it to be _brightly_ painted, with a tall, powerful _stallion_ at the forefront. Or _two_ of them, or even _three_! This junky little _jalopy_ wasn't what came to mind. Of course, that didn't mean he didn't _like_ it! Because he did! The old ass just looked like the most charming rascal on the _block_ , and honestly, he wanted nothing more than to reach out of the mirror and pet _him_ , if only he could!

But it still didn't make any _sense_. He would get time to think on this in a moment, when Sir Roland would step up into the carriage to put him away. Along the Chaise seating were some other goodies as well, he noticed. There was a basket of bread loaves, which were still _nearly_ fresh underneath their cheesecloth, if that _smell_ and _warm_ _air_ told him anything. There was also a burlap sack of something else, _vague_ in all its lumps and shapes. But there was still room for _him_. For the nobleman and his new mirror.

He set the mirror next to the burlap sack, where there was the most room for a waist-length mirror to go without taking up the seat of the driver. Once he was sure that the mirror wasn't going to fall over with any twists or turns, Sir Roland took his own seat, took the reins, and took off.

The ghost didn't understand. Not... _completely_ , anyway. Not _yet_. If Sir Roland wasn't taking him to "his house" in Mirabar, then where _was_ he taking him? Was he bought as a _gift_ for _someone_ _else_ , who didn't live in town? Or did he he have _another_ location to bring him instead?

The _latter_ made more sense. From his strange eyes to his fake accent, it was clear Sir Roland - _if_ that was even his name - was _hiding_ something. He wasn't _blind_. He wasn't _deaf_. What he heard and saw was a _far_ cry different from the _uppity_ _nobleman_ Fruna talked at length about when she knew nobody else was listening.

Beetlejuice didn't get to muse on this much. Not before they left the city limits. No. That's when the _real_ beauty hit him.

Outside of Mirabar, winter winds rolled over the land sleigh-bound. Over the bridge crossing the frozen River Mirar was a wonderful vista. On the right were the rising peaks of _The_ _Crags_ , capped in snow, looking all the less intimidating in the quilted sheets of winter than they ever did in other seasons. And there, on the left, was the _Lurkwood_. A forest of old Sequoia trees with branches that grasped at the Deepwinter wind, as if reaching for the very snow that fell. Snow dressed them from head to toe, giving them all cloaks of glittering silver. 

The ass pulling the carriage was a _swift_ and _stubborn_ thing. Moreso than one expected, even for a beast such as him, who found less difficulty trotting down the covered cobblestone road than he thought he would. But oh, how _peaceful_ it was. To put the sound of the village _behind_ them, only to be left with the _wind_ over the rolling hills. The dark of the night. The crisp sound of snow, that which fell both _around_ them and _underfoot_.

As Sir Roland drove the carriage along, he passed the occasional glance toward the mirror. Whenever he did, Beetlejuice did his best to bow down, just out of sight. But he still looked back. Every time they hit a bigger bump in the road, or they made a hard turn, he would look back to it. Just to make sure it didn't tip over. Just to make sure it was safe.

Beetlejuice couldn't tell if he hid well enough or not, but, it _did_ make him feel safer. That subtle check-up Sir Roland kept doing. Those spring green eyes were very warm looking at his mirror, as opposed to the angry glare they gave poor Fruna before. They stood out against the grey of the sky and the black leather hood to the carriage.

 _"It won't be much longer, buddy."_ he told the mirror, before turning his eyes back to the road. _"Don't worry..."_

He wasn't worried at _all_. Normally, he _would've_ been. But not _here_. Not with _him_.

And for a while, it was just them. The _nobleman_ , the _ass_ , and the _ghost_ , riding through the snow. Along the winding road they went, with only the creak of swinging lanterns, the clatter of rolling wooden wheels, and the whip of the wind keeping them company. Of course, he noticed that the further they went, the closer and closer they drew to the Lurkwood. But he didn't mind at all. He knew more about the woods than he did any Dwarven village, gods only know how. And from what he'd heard about the forest, it sounded _exactly_ his style. There were plenty of _ghost stories_ and surrounding it, from the _hunter_ _killed_ _by_ _his_ _own_ _dogs_ to the old legend of a _family_ _of_ _vampires_ hiding within, all the stories about the _spirits_ hiding in the _trees_ , waiting to _ambush_ unsuspecting explorers, and the _banshee_ purported to _shriek_ there on lonely moonlit nights - hey, it couldn't get any better than _that_. _Tall,_ _dark,_ and _handsome_ was that forest, and that was an invitation he was more than happy they were taking.

By the time they finally entered the forest, the night was at its darkest. The streetlamps and the carriage lanterns were their best friends, there. Even for how crisp - how _clear_ \- the snow was, it didn't mean much if they didn't have a light to navigate it. The trees _towered_ over them, older than _either_ of them could probably _ever_ imagine. It was no wonder that the dwarves of Mirabar spoke of it with such reverence and fear; It was probably _gigantic_ to them in comparison!

They didn't phase Sir Roland in the _slightest_ , however. Even when he left the main road for the lack of a proper trail, he looked _completely_ confident in where he was heading. As did the ass pulling the carriage along, who stepped over various tangled roots underhoof, which their wheels roughly hit. This made the Chaise _jump_ and _rattle_ , and led to the man sticking an arm out to catch the mirror before it could tumble, while keeping his other hand on the reins at the same time. But this was still done with a kind of _practice_ that told Beetlejuice he'd transported such _large_ , _delicate_ things before. So he wasn't fearful for his mirror at _all_. Where Beetlejuice normally grew _impatient_ , _excitement_ instead took the helm, as his eyes darted _here_ and _there_ \- and _everywhere!_ \- to catch _any_ glimpse of Sir Roland's house. Or _whoever_ he was.

This wasn't some _bougie_ _prick_. It still eluded him as to who or _what_ he could be, but he knew _that_ much. That was actually part of the excitement! Once they got to his place, he could find out who his mysterious roommate _really_ was! He bounced possibilities back and forth in his head like a ping pong table. Could be some scraggly _con_ _man_ , a _Fey_ _sorcerer_ in disguise, a _pretty_ _lady_ \- he always _prayed_ for the pretty lady, but considering his track record, it was _pretty_ _unlikely_ at this point - or just about _anything_ , really! He kept his hopes up!

The overhanging branches grew higher, and higher yet, until his roommate and his carriage _finally_ had enough headspace to ride without worrying about branches hitting the roof of the Chaise. The deeper they followed the path less traveled, the more Beetlejuice could see how the snow buried the thorny rose bushes that otherwise might've been a problem in another season.

Then, slowly, surely, it widened up. And though they didn't yet hit the clearing, he finally saw it.

_His new home._

Further down, the path opened up into a decently sized clearing. Not too small of one, but not too large. Just right for the house that sat there. It looked like an older place, two stories tall, with arched windows and walls of freshly refurbished wood panels, topped off with a dark wood shake roof. There was also an iron fence delicately installed around the house and gardens, which were overgrown in vines and shrubbery that obviously didn't bloom underneath the weight of all that snow. Yet, as they got closer, he could see the additions made, from new balconies and open walkways on the second level, to that nice tower at the back of the house.

The more he took it in, the bigger his eyes got. And all the _brighter_. The grabby trees? The spooky looking house? The sharp iron fence? The overgrown garden? The signs that read _"Please Don't Climb The Fence"_ and _"Trespassers Will Be Turned Into Fertilizer" -_ Oh! _Ohhh!!_ If heaven was a place in Faerun, it looked like this decrepit house!

He and his new roommate both sighed at the same time. Both for the _exact_ _same_ _feeling_ , too. If Beetlejuice could've just _melted_ into the snow and slipped into the front door already, he _would've_. The same went for "Sir Roland", who probably wanted _nothing_ more than to put his nice new mirror away and find his _bed_.

However, he had to put the _carriage_ away. That was the _first_ course of action. He obviously just couldn't let his carriage or his trusty friend _freeze_ , now, _could_ he?

So Beetlejuice watched the house come closer, closer still, then move to the left, as his driver took a right turn toward the stables he hadn't yet spotted. Also a rickety old structure, save for the newly installed wall panels. The carriage was driven here and parked, before Sir Roland left his carriage to tend to his furry friend. He was so quickly, carefully uncovered and untethered from the carriage, with quiet, frequent apologies from Sir Roland. Despite his frantic nature, the ghost felt the donkey didn't really mind. He didn't really seem to mind much of anything. And from the way he bumped his head against Sir Roland's, he was probably more than okay with having waited in the snow for him. Beetlejuice himself didn't know for certain how close the two were, but the donkey certainly didn't treat him like an uptight ass. That was a nice sign.

The donkey was put away before too long. Then began the _arduous_ task of bringing the _rest_ of the groceries into the house. Sir Roland went for the basket of warm bread first, careful not to nudge the mirror _too_ far the other direction when he grabbed it. And he was gone for maybe a grand total of ten... _twenty_ seconds, before those boots were heard _speeding_ through the snow again. Then came the lumpy burlap sack, and then, _finally_ , his mirror.

The _mirror_ , as the _largest_ of the things purchased, was the _last_ to be brought in. The so-called "nobleman" heaved the mirror into his arms with the quickness and caution of a man who, while not wanting his mirror broken, _definitely_ didn't want to _freeze_ _his_ _breeches_ off in the snow, either. It was a carefully cushioned carry in both arms, with the gambeson acting as secondary protection in case the poor man fell, up until they got to the door, where he was more than happy to shift the weight of the ghost's mirror into one arm, so that way he could open the door without putting him down.

All of this was _much_ more difficult for _him_ than it was for his new _roommate_ , who just got to sit back and _watch_ as the house was opened up to him. Both the exterior and the interior shared that Gothic forest charm, but compared to the _outside_ , the _inside_ was a splash of _all_ _sorts_ of colors! The walls of each room in the main foyer were papered differently, from _pink_ , to _mint_ or _manila_ , and the paintings that hung around all depicted scenes of a _bright_ , yet _vaguely unsettling_ nature! _Kooky!_ He _liked_ it!

He didn't get to see _much_ of it of course, seeing as his roommate had to go through the trial of carrying him up a _tall_ _flight_ _of_ _stairs_ , but he saw enough to entice him. It was such a _scattered_ , _crazy_ way to decorate, from the various patterned rugs sitting about the place, to the stuffed Owlbear in the living room, to the collection of what appeared to be small, decorative skeletons, living their own colorful, casual lives in their figure sets.

It still retained that _ominous_ appeal from outside, but with _whacky_ undertones! Cheerful, gaudy colors _didn't_ overstay their welcome, unlike the _vibrant_ _pink_ _walls_ of the _duchess_ that had him last --

Then they finally arrived. Down a long hallway, "Sir Roland" took a right turn for a door at the end, which opened up into the _master_ _bedroom_. The wallpaper here was of an aging red, once bright against the dark oak wood of the cabinets, dresser, and four poster bed, whose curtains barely hung onto the posters by threads. The _cobwebs_ made better curtains, at _this_ point. But the _whole house_ looked like it was still a work in progress, and Beetlejuice was known for his _complete disorganization_ , so he didn't even _remotely_ mind the mess. He actually thought it was rather _charming!_

Of course, he spotted the absent space on the dresser immediately. Amid the trinkets, the jewelry box, and the stone busts wearing different thematic sets of jewelry, he saw a large, vacant space, sitting in the middle of it all. It wasn't a nobleman's chambers, but it seemed "Sir Roland" _wasn't actually lying_ about breaking a mirror on his dresser. That probably helped sell the con _more_ , the more he thought about it. 

That's where the good man set him. He walked over, making the floorboards creak in _such_ a _satisfying_ way as he went, and carefully, carefully, he set his mirror down there. Once his hands were free, "Sir Roland" stepped back to take in the look of it. He didn't seem all that satisfied, so he came back forward to take the mirror's sides, then scoot it some. An inch or so to the left or right, he debated between them - but eventually, he stopped moving the mirror altogether. Eventually, he was satisfied.

Once that was dealt with, he made a _beeline_ for the small _furnace_ in the room. It was a rusty old thing, held together only by cast iron bolts and love, which stood on little clawed feet as his roommate got some firewood tossed inside. He said _something_ under his breath as he struggled to get a light, but he was a decent enough distance away that the ghost couldn't hear it. But he could hear the _spark_. The blowing of _air_ as his new friend coaxed the embers higher. The _crackle_ of a growing flame. Only then did he close the furnace's little lid and come back. And when he was happy with _all_ of that, he lit himself a candelabra, pulled up the chair nearby, and took his seat before his new mirror.

He then looked over his reflection. He smiled so _sweetly_. So _sorely_. Beetlejuice _almost_ thought that was the moment to introduce himself, but no. Not _yet_. He watched from the mirror as the man's expression slowly fell, as more of the artificial pomp and circumstance faded away, until he looked right _exhausted_. The smile melted away as he said _"Oh, thank **lord** \--"_ before slumping forward. He brought up his hands only so that his face had a more comfortable place to fall. Which it _did_ , with a sigh.

The Tethyrian that Beetlejuice heard earlier, hidden away underneath, came out in full swing now. _"I thought I'd **never** get home."_ The "nobleman" told himself. _"I was **told** we were gonna get snow, but if I'd know it was gonna be **that** heavy, I would've just stayed **home**!"  
_

He dragged his hands down his face as he lifted it, and it was here that the ghost in the mirror saw how _strangely_ the face stretched and folded. How deeply _hooded_ the face's eyelids really were. Once he was done holding his face and feeling _sorry_ for himself, he then reached up to quickly take his hat and toss it aside. From the distant flop that Beetlejuice heard, it _didn't_ land where he wanted it. Not that he _minded_ , as _immediately_ thereafter, the man took hold of his face by the cheeks and forehead, and _pulled_ _it straight_ _off._

... Or, more specifically, he pulled his _mask_ off, revealing the truth. The "hair" for the disguise was, in fact, _very long **fur**_ , which completely coated the head of the _lovely_ Tabaxi dame underneath.

Beetlejuice stopped, _dead_ in his tracks, and _stared._

Her fur was _all_ messed up, of course - as fur was bound to be when it was compressed underneath of such a _tight_ , _well-made_ mask all day - and almost all black, with splotches of red and orange scattered about. There was some white, from the little spatter over her right lip and the bridge of her nose, like someone had used a fork to flick some white _frosting_ onto her face, down to the bib of white fur he saw extend all the way down below the gambeson's neckline. 

The little cotton cap she was wearing underneath came off next, so that her big old ears could finally be freed, which flopped back upright with no difficulty. Still, they felt so sore, she had to shake her head a few times in order to properly air them out. Once her head sat still, she pulled her gloves off. Revealing that, rather than having big, rough human hands, she had rather big paws instead, with fur just as long. Which she reached up to run through her fur in complete relief. Her eyes fell peacefully shut. In hindsight, those type of eyes _did_ make more sense on a Tabaxi than a regular human being...

 _"I am **so** sorry, girls,"_ she told her ears as she rubbed and kneaded at their base, _" **I** didn't wanna press you that long either... **oww**..."_

_"...If I **never** have t' wear that mask again, it'll be **too** **soon** , I reckon..."_

And Beetlejuice was still staring as she did. He'd never felt his eyes go _so_ wide, or his head go _so_ light. Under most circumstances, he'd notice it _immediately_ and shake it off. But not here. _Here_ , all he could give for his trouble was a very, very quiet, _"Oh."_

He'd _never_ seen a _messier_ looking feline. Not with such _rugged_ _claws_ , which cut through some of the tangles in her fur with ease. Not with such _large_ , _lovable_ bat ears, or such _sharp_ teeth, or such _pretty_ white eyelashes against such _deep_ , _dark_ fur, or... _anything!_ He figured he'd _remember_ if he saw someone _that_ pretty, so this was _very_ much a _first_ for him.

Which is probably why he couldn't stop _staring_. Even as she put her hands on the dresser and got up, saying, _"Alright, let's open this ol' casket up, shall we?"_ , before walking out of view, mask in hand. 

His eyes flew out of his sockets and _smacked_ into the mirror's face, smacking against it to watch her walk toward her bed. Beetlejuice followed suit, flying up quickly enough that his eye sockets popped back into place. The mask was set carefully onto the bed, right next to the gloves, before she removed the rest.

She undid the gambeson coat, which showed she only wore a large bustier and breeches underneath of a dark burgundy color. It was impressive how well the gambeson had pressed down her fur, considering that it all looked about six inches long all around. It was practically pouring out of her sleeves and collar as the rest of the clothes were discarded. This was all messed up from the day's wear as well, but while _horribly_ out of shape, it wasn't _nearly_ as cramped looking as her _tail._

_Gods_ , _her_ _poor **tail.**_ She _had_ one of those, by the way. Turns out, she'd wrapped that up all around her _waist_ during the day, which cats really were _never_ supposed to do. Which _also_ meant it was as _sore_ _as_ _the_ **_Nine Hells_** when she went to unwrap it. She could barely even _touch_ it without flinching or whining in pain, so all she could really do was untie the silk sash from around it, let it unfurl, and _hope_ for the best. Thankfully, it _did_ uncurl as it was supposed to, though it _barely_ moved due to pain.

She hissed through her teeth. Curled her claws into her paw pads to try and distract from it.

_"... Always the worst part..."_

_Or was it the **best?** ,_ Beetlejuice thought. The more of that wild, wonderful pussycat was revealed, the more he leaned into the mirror's surface. The dopiest smile crossed his face, as it eventually crossed the face of his _heart_ , who had originally opened the door to his chest in _confusion_ at the _sudden_ _good_ _vibes_ it got. But once it saw _her_ , it got the same grin, and before long, it was swooning against the door to his chest exactly like he was against the mirror. Oh, _those_ two were **_long_ **_gone._

Yet _somehow_ , they _seemed_ to go _unnoticed_ , as she set aside each piece of the costume on the bed. It was pretty well put together, if one was being _perfectly_ honest. There was a synthetic mask - not sure _where_ she found the material to _make_ such an accurate mask in _Faerun_ , but _hey_ \- there was the _tabard_ , that finely quilted _gambeson_ set, the _hat_ , the _boots_... and the _belt_ , too. He didn't even notice the finely made _scabbard_ she'd attached to it. Probably because he didn't notice _anything_ that didn't have a _colorful_ _black_ _canvas for_ _fur_ at that moment.

He watched as she then walked out of view to grab something else. He so _desperately_ wanted to lean out of the mirror and follow the direction her tail led his eyes, but _alas_. She went out of sight. He wasn't able to stop himself from _whining_ at it, but _thankfully_ , he kept quiet enough that he didn't catch her attention. Which was a _good_ thing, because he _wanted_ to wait until she was more _comfortable_ before properly _revealing_ himself. Not for much _longer_ , though, because he was _itching_ to introduce himself, **_now_ _._**

She walked back into view before long, with what looked to be a tall display mannequin in tow. Only a head and torso, it wasn't difficult for her to put the pieces of the costume back onto it in order. By the time she was done, it looked like the hollowed out head and torso of Sir Roland were propped up on display. Minus his _hair_ , obviously. 

Once she was done, she turned the mannequin _this_ way and _that_. Eyed it over, just to be sure everything was in the right place. Then smiled, nodded to herself, and pushed the mannequin back out of sight. When she came back into view again, she grabbed the gloves and boots next to put them away.

That was it. Once everything was put away, and she only stood there in her bustier and briefs, she let out a sigh.

At that point, Beetlejuice had his head resting in his hands, while the rest of his body floated some way off of the floor. Except, his heart was floating too. He _noticed_ this as it was nearly floating up in the exact same pose as him, up and _past_ his head, before he reached up and just _snatched_ it. _No! Not allowed!_ Back in his chest it _went!_ And he made sure his suit _stayed_ locked this time, by means of _swallowing_ the key he locked it with. No way _that_ would backfire _at_ _all_.

Once his troublesome heart was dealt with, he immediately resumed his previous posture to watch as his feline friend began to groom herself. Though there were brushes and combs on the dresser, she started out by tongue for _some_ reason. He wasn't a Tabaxi, so he didn't _get_ it. Maybe it was _cultural_.

However, it gave him the _perfect_ opportunity. As she was busy de-tangling the fur along her arm, he finally spoke.

 _"Yer a **pretty** kitty, aren'tcha?"_ he asked her with absolute _enchantment_. Her ears perked up at the sound. His first words were _normally_ when potential roommates _panicked_.

But not _her_. She pulled herself up from her arm to glance back at the mirror. Now she could see him, clear as day. And somehow, she didn't look remotely phased by him, as she smiled, and answered him with, _"Pretty as a Medusa's picture, darlin'. **Thanks** fer noticin'~"_

_"Anytime..."_

She then resumed grooming her arm. If she noticed Beetlejuice's reaction to the nickname, she didn't yet comment on it, as he slowly turned upside down mid-air. His hands pressed his cheeks together with such glee he just _had_ to contain. Darlin'! _DARLIN'!_ Oh, nobody called him _darlin'_ in a first conversation! It made him feel lighter than _air!_

Right, _composure!_ He had to pull himself together! He was _just_ starting to float _out_ of the mirror's view when he caught himself, and so pulled himself back _into_ view by an invisible rope. She still continued to groom. Somehow, she was doing a good job de-tangling that fur.

He resumed his previous position, watching her fondly, before speaking up again. _"An' I'll bet you've got a pretty **name** t' match..."_

 _"Mhmm..."_ She hummed affirmingly, not taking her attention away from her work.

_"Could I have th' pleasure of **havin** ' that name, ma'am?"_

It wasn't clear whether it was the question itself or his little _ma'am_ that paused her. She thought for a moment, with fur still on her tongue, then pulled herself away.

_"Oh, I'm afraid not."_ She told him. _"Not unless I can have yours first."_

This was what made his smile fall, rather modestly. _"Oh, uh... I would! Normally, I'd **love** to, believe you me!" _As he said that, he gestured from her toward himself, now floating upright proper. _"But I'm **cursed.** So I can't give you **mine** , either. I can't even say it for **myself** , which is **incredibly** inconvenient if you ask me!"_

_" **I'll** say. If I can't have **your** name, y'can't have **mine**. So sorry, spooks."_

But from the way she sounded, she wasn't all _that_ sorry. At least, not sorry enough to stop grooming herself. Beetlejuice was _captivated_ by the _look_ of it, himself. He could probably dive into that fur from a _diving_ _board_ and he wouldn't come back up for a _week_. Even with a map, he could get _lost_ in there. And he would _love_ it. _Pfft_ , as if she'd even let him _get_ that close.

Still, it wasn't a good point to _argue_ on, but it was a _good_ point, nonetheless. Even _if_ it was common _courtesy_ for hosts and hostesses to introduce _themselves_ first, he had to take into account that this _wasn't_ the _usual_ hosting situation. And giving one's name to the _wrong_ _person_ could lead to _horrible_ consequences. He knew that _all_ too well. So, instead of _debating_ her on that point, he leaned against the mirror's frame, folded his arms, and thought.

He had to come up with something to break the ice. Truth or dare was an option, but not one he figured she'd take with her name on the line. Maybe save that one for later. Uno wasn't that fun with just two, and he doubted she'd want to play against a bunch of clones. They also couldn't really bet on anything when they were cooped up in the house on a snowy day. Think, Beetlejuice, Think!

As he thought, he failed to notice her staring. She was meant to finish cleaning herself up, so that she could likely re-comb the fur to its fluffy standard, but she watched him think instead. Then she looked back to her sheets. Then back to him. The more she changed focus, the more her expression dipped. Beetlejuice was obviously too lost in his own head to notice. But perhaps she was thinking the same thing. Clearly he couldn't do anything fun through the mirror, so, she wondered what he could do. What game could they play with equal participation that would make him feel more included...?

_"... Well... we could always play **charades**."_

That got him to perk up. _"Oh, I **love** charades! Let's do that!"_

Talk about catty! He watched as she adjusted her position so she was leaning back his way, with her elbows on her plush looking bed. There was so much fur up top, her paws were almost hidden under her chest, sitting that way. Whew.

_"You're th' guest here, so, why don't **you** go first?" _

He couldn't object to that. _"Don't mind if I do!"_

He then held up two fingers for her, which, didn't take her much to figure, at first.

_"Alright, two words!"_

He then held up just the one finger.

_"First word... "_

And with that, he snapped himself out of his love-struck stupor. Both figuratively _and_ literally, as, with a snap of the fingers, his shape changed in an instant. One moment, he was that snazzily clad kook in pinstripes, and the next, he was a beetle of the exact same size, with a striped shell and rather fuzzy antennae. Hey, most beetles didn't _have_ hair, so it had to go _somewhere!_

He _thought_ it was a pretty easy guess. But apparently it _wasn't._ As he posed himself in a way that was so charismatic, he looked her way, hoping to find her impressed with the shape he took. Instead, he found her **_incredibly_ **_confused._ She had her chin in one of her big paws, while the other was scratching her upper lip with a single claw. It was such a cute expression, but she held it for _so_ long, he was _genuinely_ _worried_ she didn't know what it was!

 _"... beats me!"_ She then said with a shrug, prompting his eyes to _bug_ out.

_"Awww, c'mon!"_ He tried to ask her with a buzz of his nicely decorated wings. _"Y'can't even try?"_

_"I'm tryin'a think, spooks, don't push me!"_ She huffed. _"I ain't **seen** a bug like that before!"_

 _"_ **_WHAT!?_ ** _"_

As he said that, he jumped about five feet into the air - and briefly out of his beetle-shaped skin. When he landed again, he landed once more in the hardened shell he took, but looked all the more bewildered. _"Whaddya **MEAN** you **haven't seen** a bug like this before?!"_

Her pout was a cute one, as she snapped back, _"Aw, gee, **I don't know** , spooks, **maybe** 'cause I 'aven't **seen** every bug in existence? Just cause I live out here **alone in th' woods** don't mean I'm a **natural** **expert**! Do ya **really** expect me t'see a bug that **colorful** flyin' around here?"_

He opened his mandibles to speak, but - no, wait, she had a _point._ One fuzzy claw came up to tap his chin as he debated the thought. _Jeepers_ _creepers_ , he'd never run into someone who _didn't know what a_ _**beetle** was!_ But to his credit, he'd not only jazzed up the _appearance_ a bit - had to _match_ him or it _didn't happen_ , that was usually the rule - but at the same time, what if they just didn't _migrate_ here? What if there just wasn't a beetle looking like his around _at all?_

He didn't know _anything_ about the _natural economy_ of this place, after all. _Economy? Ecology?_ Or, wait, was it _ergonometry?_ No, he was closer on the first word -- **_ecosystem,_** _that_ was it! 

_"... well, **yeah** , but... I mean... **Ehhhh** ,_ _you've got a **point**. Maybe I customized my look a bit **too** much. One sec - "_

And with that, he snapped his beetle claws again. This time, a similar shape came up, but one significantly more familiar. Or one that should have been more familiar, anyway. A scarab beetle with a beautiful, iridescent green and blue shell, whose only telltale features of the ghost beneath were the very bright, very yellow humanoid eyes. 

It was a scarab beetle, obviously. And even though he hated the concept, he not only kept it accurate, but kept his design influence down to a minimum. He at least wanted to help the poor cat out.

She stared at this one. She stared at him very intently. He could tell she was really thinking on this one, but she thought for too long. He should've known what she'd say.

_"... yeah, I don't know **this** one either."_

He slumped. He should've known. _"Really?"_ Beetlejuice dejectedly asked her.

To which she only shook her head. She looked about as proud of her non-answer as he was. Which was to say, she _wasn't._ At _all._ Even _he_ could see that.

He couldn't really fault her for it. Hell, there were _plenty_ of times _he_ didn't have an answer that felt obvious to others. And it _always_ made him feel bad. In those instances, what few friends he had _always_ tried to help him out, so that he could figure it out on his _own_ terms. He figured he could help her here. But _just_ _this_ _once!_

_"Alright,"_ he started, which seemed to pull her out of some sad train of thought he didn't notice before, _"I'll give you a hint, how's that?"_

She still didn't look too happy accepting it, but the offer seemed to brighten her up, at least. _"Oh, uh, sure! That'd be fine..."_

His friend then watched as set his grubby little feet onto the mirror's face and slowly crawled onto it. As the mirror wasn't big enough for a _six_ _foot_ _tall beetle_ to crawl around on it proper, he shrank himself down until he was only about the size of a small _cat_. If a _cat_ had a _shiny_ _green_ _shell_ instead of _fur_ , and _six_ legs instead of _four_. That sounded like a cool cat to _him_.

As he crawled around on her reflection, he told her, _"It's got as many **letters** as I've got **legs**! See?"_ And when he asked that, he lifted two of his six legs toward her. She nodded.

_"Yeah, I see 'em!"_ If she _didn't_ , that would've been more a concern for her _eyesight_ , at that point. But she combed her fingers through her long, unkempt whiskers. Six _legs_ meant six _letters_. So, even if she didn't know the _name_ of the bug right off the bat, she could at least _narrow_ _it_ _down_ from whatever _other_ bugs she knew. At least, those with _longer_ or _shorter_ names than that.

But he got to watch her _think_ , in the meantime. She didn't say any guesses out loud at first. She mouthed some things to herself, and every so often he'd see her pull up a paw to count on her _fingers_ \- but that was it. Eventually, she asked him, _"If I don't **remember** any six-letter names off th' top 'f my head, can I **make** some up?"_

_"Yeah, sure! You can come up with a **ton** 'f fun names **that** way!"_

_"Like **beetle**?"_

At that, he fell off of the mirror. He hit his floor with a _thud_ , but that didn't hurt him _nearly_ as much as that _answer_ did.

_"Was... was that **not** it?"_ She called out to him.

 _"No, it **was**!" _He called back from the floor. _"It was... "_

_Unbelievable_.

By the time he scrambled back into view, he was back in his original shape. But she could probably tell that before he even came back up, seeing as he took the mirror's edge with a humanoid hand, as opposed to beetle claws. He took a moment to recompose himself, before telling her, _"Now, onto th' **next** one!"_ He then once again snapped his fingers. This time, he took the shape of a tall carton, pouring liquid into an open glass.

This one was more _his_ fault. Her satisfied expression from before _immediately_ left her for that same old confusion. That look of someone who hadn't _seen_ such a thing. And it took him an _embarrassingly_ long amount of time to realize it. _Oh, hey, that's right!_ This society wasn't _that_ advanced yet! _Nobody_ here knew what a _juice_ _carton_ was! _Silly_ _Beetlejuice!_

_"Oh, oops! Different **time** period, gotta **think** differently!"_

So he snapped his carton lid, thus turning himself into an _apple_ the same color as his skin. He then conjured up an old wooden apple juicer and a wooden cup, at which point his apple self fell _into_ the cup, and the juicer came down.

It was a _pretty_ _grotesque_ joke to make... but she seemed to get this one **_much_ **_faster_ because of it! _"Oh! **Juice**!"_

He didn't turn back into his proper self until he was done being juiced, at which point the fresh _beetle_ _juice_ coagulated and clumped together, until it rebuilt him proper. When he came back, he bounced on his feet.

_" **Jazzy!** See, I **knew** you were smart!"_ He then told her. Whether she took that as an actual _compliment_ or a _back-handed insult_ wasn't seen, but she _did_ applaud the neat trick.

He then asked her to _"Put 'em **together** now!"_, as he began to rub his hands together in excitement. He rubbed them together _so_ fiercely that he even began producing _sparks_ from them.

_"... Beetle... juice."_ She hesitated saying that. _Most_ folks did, it probably _sounded_ weird. But he couldn't tell if _she_ found it weird or not.

_"Beetlejuice?"_ She then asked. Just to confirm. _"Is that it?"_

The finger guns he pointed her way confirmed it. _"You got it~"_

Though he couldn't stay smug for long. As soon as he pointed his sparking fingers at the mirror's face, the sparks he generated earlier fired off like a shot. They bounced off of the mirror and back toward him, where he had to _duck_ and _dodge_ to avoid them, while they bounced around his room some more. Every time they bounced his way, he had to move in some way in order to avoid being _zapped_ by his own mojo.

Which the Tabaxi just seemed to find _hilarious_. From the smoky laugh she let loose to the way her tail flicked and waved about, as an entertained feline's tail always did.

She couldn't resist making a joke. The opportunity was there. _"You look like yer havin' a **blast!** "_ she told him.

The pun made Beetlejuice pause. It took him a second to process that pun, before barking out a laugh -

_" - **HA!** Nice one - "_

\- that allowed one of the sparks fired off to hit him. It shocked him in vibrant colors of _blue_ , _green_ , _gold_ , and _pink_ , which caused his viewer to flinch, before the _second_ spark hit him as well. Once both wore off, he was reduced to a standing husk of a ghost, his skin covered in soot, his suit charred black and grey.

He needed to get _rid_ of that, of course. So once he recovered from the shock of the onslaught, he started dusting off his suit. His roommate chimed in with a genuine, but still playful, _"Sorry!"_

He just waved the apology off, of course. _"Ehhh, don't worry about it."_ Beetlejuice reassured her. _"I get hit with my own smoke **all** the time! Nothin' a little **spit** **shine** can't clean up!"_

Once he finished cleaning his suit up, on cue, he _spit_ into both of his hands, then swept them all over his face and hair. That cleaned his head _right_ up, despite looking like it _really shouldn't._

Only when he had his hair all slicked back and "stylish" - read, _messy as usual_ \- did he continue. 

_"But yeah! That's my name, pussycat!"_ He leaned against the mirror's face with one arm when he said this, in a manner he meant to be wholly flirtatious and suave. _"It just **radiates** charm, I know. No need t' **say** it. Except..."_

He then popped his coat lapels a bit with one hand. Just a little. Just to try and sell his line a little better.

 _"Well, maybe you **could** say it, **three** more times."_ Beetlejuice then added with a smile. _"My **name** , I mean. No real reason **why**. I just think 't sounds **nice** comin' from **you~** "_

She leaned into his words in a way he didn't actually anticipate. How sly, how crooked her cleft-lipped smile grew. How she crossed her arms together beneath her, how she set her chin on top of one of her big, burly looking paws, how her tail curled over the breadth of her bed...

He wasn't actually expecting her to lean into his charm. Let alone _reciprocate_ it.

_"Thanks, spooks,"_ she told him so smoothly, _"but I bet you'd sound even **better** sayin' **mine**."_

That made him blush **_hard_**. _That_ was new. _So_ new, in fact, that it almost _completely_ threw him off of his _groove._ It was so disorienting, he didn't even _realize_ her flirt had a _double_ _meaning_.

Which was, as she _clarified_ afterward, _"Now it's my turn, right?"_

_"... Oh!"_ Oh, right, _right_ , they were, uh. _Playing **charades.**_ Right. He cleared his throat. _"Right, yeah, a- **HEM** ..."_

He then gave her a very big, VERY over-the-top bow, involving the fullest bend of his body he could, even though his spine shouldn't have allowed it. She gave him a simple "thank you", which carried a tone of voice just as theatrical as his gesture was.

As she straightened her posture up for her turn, he straightened his up as well.

... Alright, that was a lie. Beetlejuice never "straightened" up his posture, because he _wasn't straight to begin with._ That, and if he ever tried to straighten his back out, it would probably pop out of place instead of stretching. So instead, he opted to sweep his legs up from beneath him in a cross-legged seat, which he took in the air. As a ghost is want to do.

She cleared her throat, though this _probably_ wasn't going to involve any vocal theatrics on her part. Rather than his two fingers he held up for words before, she held up six.

_"Alright,"_ he started, _"Six words."_

She nodded, then held up only one.

_"First word..."_

Then, she extended her palm his way, before holding up her three central fingers. The thumb and pinkie were crossed over her palm, thumb over-top, which she tapped against the other finger twice.

He stared. For a fairly long time. One finger tapped curiously against his chin, slowly, like a metronome that counted the seconds he sat there pondering this mysterious gesture.

It was _sign_ _language_. Obviously. But _he_ didn't know that, because he didn't _know_ sign language.

_"I don't get it."_ He then told her, as plainly as he could. _"Three?"_

She gently rolled her eyes, then held up her other paw with three fingers instead.

_"... **Two** threes?"_ He tried. He stopped himself there, _"No, wait, Two Threes is **two** words, so **that's** not it..."_

She put all six fingers together. But this just got _more_ staring.

He gave it another full minute, before he shrugged, so she just sighed, put away her paws, then pulled them back up with the same six fingers she held up before.

_"... Oh! Oh, **Six**! Is it **Six**?"_

Ah, finally! She didn't chide or mock him at all for taking so long, nor did she think poorly of him for it. After all, what would a ghost know of Faerunian Sign Language to begin with?

_"Very good, Beetlejuice!"_ She told him so sweetly. He just soaked that up like a sponge. _"Very good!"_

_"Next word..."_

This time, she linked the thumbs to both of her paws to make a flapping gesture, like those of wings. Which she flapped about in an _erratic_ , _energetic_ way.

He watched this curiously. He didn't seem _as_ confused as before, but by the sound of him, he _wasn't_ so sure of his answer. _"... Birds? Is it birds?"_

She shook her head, then spread _all_ her fingers out, as she continued flapping her paws. She didn't _have_ magic, he had to cut her some sla - _oh!_

_"Wait - **bats**!"_

_"Yeah!"_ She actually fist pumped at that. _"I'm **so** glad my bat hand puppets're good!"_

 _"They are! Though, with how big an' fuzzy your paws are, "_ Beetlejuice said, _"they look more like **fruit** bats. Or wait, I know there was **another** kind - ..."_

She modestly rubbed her hands together at that. _"Ehhh, don't worry 'bout specifics. I do get that a lot..."_

_"But it's **Bats**. Next one!"_

She continued her "flapping bat" gesture for a while, all while her little ghost friend watched, before settling it beneath her left jawline. Where she folded her hands together and set her head on top in complete relaxation.

This one wasn't so clear. _"... Six Bats... sleepin'?"_ He proposed. But she shot that down with a shake of her head. _"No? Not sleepin'? Alright, **sure** , uh... hm..."_

_"... layin'?"_ Another shake of the head. _"No? Cozy? **Comfortable**?"_

At "comfortable", her ears perked up.

_" **Cloooose**...."_

_"Comfort? **Comforted**?"_

That got the nod he needed. _"Attaboy~"_

He wanted to indulge in her flirtatious tone _so_ badly. But he had to _focus_ if he wanted to finish up his guess. _"Okay, so, Six Bats Comforted... by **what**?"_

At that, she pushed herself to get up and off the bed, which threw the ghost off a bit. Then, he watched as she walked nearer and nearer to his mirror's edge of sight.

_"Hey -- hey! Six, I can't **see** that far out!"_

_"Yes you can! **Relax!** I'm not leavin' yer line'a sight... "_ And she _wasn't._ The windows along the farthest wall were still visible on the _veeeeery_ edge of his mirror's view. _"See?"_

He only folded his arms. Yeah, sure, he _could_ see her, but what did this have to do with her _name?_ What, were the last two words in her name _window-related?_ Come on!

But no. Instead, she reached over to unlatch the big iron hook keeping her windows shut, and then proceeded to crack them open. She didn't _whip_ them open outright, no! Of _course_ not! Not with the _snow_ billowing outside! She just opened it enough so that way he could hear the _wind_ outside, and that way only a _fraction_ of the snow could sneak its way in.

Which it did. It gently whistled against the windows and in through the crack, just barely disrupting the air flow keeping Six's candelabra lit. The furnace was well protected enough not to be bothered, and Beetlejuice _couldn't_ feel it, seeing as he was trapped in the mirror. But he still _pretended_ he could, with a big shiver through his body and a tight grip on his coat sleeves.

Instead of apologizing or comforting him, however, she held her paws up to the cracked window to make the same bat paw puppet as before.

_"Oh! Right, right, uh... "_ And back to his thinking posture he went. _"Okay, so... Six Bats Comforted By... th' snow?"_

That was his first guess. But with the shake of her head, that wasn't it. _"No, but yer **close!** "_

_"I'm **close?** "_ Oh, he perked up at that. _" **Nice!** Alright, lemme just..."_

He then put his fist up to his chin and re-positioned his arm and knees, so that way he was sitting like the Thinker statue in the air. He even let himself turn to stone! _Just_ for the gag! _Just_ this _once!_

It would've been concerning to most, but she didn't seem phased. Probably because he still made the _humming_ noise that told her he was alive and thinking.

Hah. _"Alive."_

_"Hmmmmm... hm, hm, hm... "_

 _"My paws're startin' t' get **cold** , buddy..."_ Six teased him.

But he got it before long. For as still as Statuejuice stood, he _eventually_ snapped out of it, with yet _another_ snap of the fingers. 

_"Wind!"_

Her tail swept up with the smile she got. Ah, that was it! _"Yeah! You **got** it, ghost!"_

He got to congratulate himself as she re-closed and re-locked her windows. Mostly by conjuring another disembodied hand of his to give a high five to. Or two high-fives. Or three. _Up high, down low_ \- and, _oop_ , his disembodied hand pulled away at the last second. _Too slow!_

As Six seated herself back on the foot of the bed, that same disembodied hand waved to her, very _cheerfully._ She waved back to it before it disappeared.

_"So, **Six Bats Comforted By The Wind** , huh?"_ Beetlejuice asked.

_"Wind **s**."_ She corrected him. _"An' yeah. Bit 'f a **mouthful** compared t' others, but **hey**..."_

As she spoke, she went back to her reclining position, which, for the most part, was identical to the way she laid there before, save for the fact she splayed herself over the _width_ of the bed instead of the _length_ , her tail falling over the side of the bed and onto the floor. When she continued, she looked back to him with a smile.

_"I'm a mouthful, myself. So I think 't fits."_ This was said with a wink.

At that, Beetlejuice smiled, and floated up to the mirror's face in a similar position to her own, chin in his hands, his little booties kicked up in the air behind him. _"Oh, I'll **bet** you **are**..."_

_"If you just let me on **outta** here, kitty, I can **test** that claim out... - "_

But Six scoffed at that. _"Oh, there's a **lot** you could **test** **out** if I **let** ya,"_ she told him, with a playfully pitiful smile, _"but that ain't about t' happen, buddy."_

His smile paused, freeze-frame fashion, with a lovingly confused _"Huh?"_ But she was more than happy to explain.

_"I literally **just** bought that mirror, an' we've only **just** met! **Last** time I let a specter out on th' first day, it led t'me getting **complaints!** "_

_"Yeah, **alright** , complaints about what? The **noise?** " _

After saying that, he pulled his suit coat over his head, but in a way that turned the whole of his upper half into a brightly stripped sheet. Despite the comical simplicity of the cloth, the sheet's "face" wrapped so tightly over his, it really did give him the look of a proper ghost. And tightly wrapped cloth over crooked teeth, sunken eye-sockets, and a large nose led to a _very_ skeletal look. At which point he _mimed_ out a wail, rather than legitimately _belting_ one out.

_Noise._ Out _there_ , in the _middle of the woods._ Yeah, that was _definitely_ it.

_"Hey, not bad!"_ She told him. But only about his _impression_ , before clarifying, _"But no, about th' whole **"people havin' cripplin' nightmares"** thing. Which was **her** fault, **not** mine, but people don't **listen** when they're **sleep** **deprived.** "_

He had to think on that one for a minute. _"... Yeah, fair enough."_

_"But I'm not gonna **give** people nightmares!"_ He then went on to say, only earning himself a roll of the eyes from the dame. As she got up to walk over to her clothes cabinet, he floated along the mirror in the same direction as her. Uh, to the _best of his ability_ , given it wasn't _that_ wide. _"I just **can't!** An' even if I **could** , I still **wouldn't!** I'd **behave** myself! **Honest!** "_

When she next looked at him, one paw on one of the drawer pulls, she saw he'd given himself a golden halo. He had a _winning_ _smile_ , but as she watched, his halo flickered on and off. Like old neon. If she didn't believe him, she'd be _right_ to, because he knew _darn_ well he couldn't behave for the _death_ of him.

Instead, Six opened the dresser drawer to look over her selection of combs and brushes. _"The answer's still **no** , spooks."_ said Six, more firmly this time. _"An' **buggin'** about it won't help yer case."_

He opened his mouth to speak, and then stopped. It was a solid _three_ seconds before the pun landed on him, at which point she heard him sharply inhale through his nose. It got a smile that she couldn't see. That was _such_ low-hanging fruit, and she _still_ went for it.

 _"Yeahhh, alright!"_ He had to do a lot to hold in the laugh that pun would've gotten, but he did his best. _"It's probably too much to ask t'get let out **immediately** , I get you! So **web** -etter get negotiating, then!"_

Ah, that got another good laugh out of her. She had a nice laugh, he noticed. Like smoke out of a freshly made pipe. 

_"Ha! **No.** No, **web** -etter not."_

Oh, his smile at that one was _painful._ From the combs she pulled out of the drawer and the way she'd been trying to groom herself earlier, it was probably safe to assume all she wanted to do was relax. Get herself _cleaned_ up and _warmed_ up. She probably didn't want to bother discussing an _old ghost's freedom_ just yet. He _understood_ that.

_"I have a **vettin'** process, see."_ When she spoke up again, it broke him away from his thought process. She had a wooden de-tangling comb in _one_ paw, very _plain_ , but very _prettily_ painted in daisies, and in the other, she had _another_ comb of _polished_ _silver_. She appeared to be debating between the two. _"I've had enough experience with **roommates** in th' past t'know not t' let my **guard** down so **soon**. I can be **friendly** , yeah! I always **wanna** be friendly! But that's **difficult** when all yer so-called **roommates** think about is gettin' you t' **bail** **'em out** , an' then decide t' **mess** **you** **up** on their way out."_

She then looked back to Beetlejuice, out of the corner of her eye. He couldn't so clearly read it in her eyes, but she had a sympathetic tone of voice. _"I don't know what **landed** ya in that mirror, spooks. An' don't think I don't feel **bad** for ya, cause... I **do.** I **really** do. I want you t' believe me."_

 _"But considerin' past cases,"_ Six went on, _"I'm not lettin' you out until I know I can **trust** you. Alright?"  
_

Beetlejuice didn't _like_ that he had to wait for it. He _loved_ the way the house looked, so he wanted _nothing_ more than to get _out_ of the mirror and get a _tour_ of the place. _Preferably_ hosted by _Six_. He'd spent _so_ _long_ in the mirror already, any longer would just be _painful_. But, _then_ _again_ , he _never_ got the chance to room with such a _pretty_ _gal_ before. And such a _nice_ one, too. She put his mirror somewhere _nice_ , she didn't talk _down_ to him...

And she said herself that she'd _eventually_ let him out. It was just a matter of _time_ and _trust_. Her past experiences with other apparitions _clearly_ wore her patience thin, and, honestly, he _didn't_ want to give her a hard time. At least, not _that_ hard of one. Not after everything she did just to _get_ him here.

So he would play it cool. But only for a _little_ while. Just to give her some time to _adjust_ , before he _really_ cracked open Pandora's Box.

Looking back at her fluffy face, which searched his own for any sign of anger or doubt, he nodded. _"Alright. I can deal with that."_ He told her. He didn't even realize how much she was holding her breath until she let it go upon hearing that. _"I mean, if **I** were in your shoes, **I** wouldn't trust me either. So I **get** ya. I've already been in this mirror long enough, I can **wait** a few more months."_

_Just_ as she was starting to relax, he pointed a firm finger her way. _"But only a **few!** If it gets t' be **too** long, know that I **will** complain about it!"_

That got a good chuckle out of her. It was a hoarse voice, but one he could get used to, as she replied, _"Then if it takes too long, by all means, yer **allowed** t' complain! Just as long as ya don't threaten **murder!** Haha!"_

After that, she settled into the bed and began to comb through her fur, and thus, get ready for bed. Satisfied with the answer she gave, Beetlejuice was content just to watch. She _did_ give him a pretty good view, after all.


End file.
